Counter Act
by enigste1
Summary: Don and Charlie and cooking. Fluff.


Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with Numb3rs. I do not profit from this work.

A/N: From time to time, a plot intrudes like an annoying commercial break when I am writing a longer piece. Although I appreciate and revere the reviews my pieces collect, I'm afraid a 'one-shot' will never be more than that. I do apologize.

Counter Act

"So," Don Eppes finished, throwing herbs into the pan with a flourish. "That's all it needs. Just cover it…" He picked up the lid and demonstrated. "…And let it simmer for twenty minutes."

"Amazing." Charlie was perched on a stool next to the island in Don's kitchen, completely entranced. "Where did you learn how to cook, Don?"

Don walked to the refrigerator and pulled the door open. "Here and there," he replied vaguely. "You want a beer?"

"Thanks." The tousle-haired mathematician took the proffered bottle and twisted off the cap. Taking a drink, he repeated, "Where?"

Though taking on hardened criminals and gut-wrenching cases was normal for the seasoned FBI agent, refusing his little brother – regardless of genius IQ – was something Don hadn't quite mastered. "I picked up a bit when I was in Quantico," he replied. "My roommate was a displaced sous-chef."

"A sous-chef doesn't know how to cook like that," Charlie argued. "That's more… cordon bleu."

Don shrugged his shoulders and took a long pull from his beer bottle. "Yeah, well… I also got a few lessons when I was in Albuquerque."

"Oh," Charlie replied softly. He wasn't sure if he had tread on forbidden ground or not.

Taking in Charlie's chastened countenance, Don smiled sadly. "It's all right, buddy. This was before Kim."

His brother perked up immediately, much to Don's amusement. "Oh!" he repeated. "Okay, then." He took another deep drink. "Are you going to tell me about it?"

Don chuckled. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Charlie was getting plastered. "Okay, you asked for it." He took two more bottles out of the fridge and set them within reach on the island. Dragging up his own stool, he sat and tried to remember past history.

Charlie grew impatient. "Well?" he asked. By this time, he was half done his beer, and it wasn't his first bottle, either.

"It was about two months after I got posted in New Mexico," he began. "I had been living in a motel not far from the office, and it was alright. I got tired of it, though." He had another sip, noting as he did that Charlie's bottle was almost empty. "I decided I wanted to get an apartment."

Reaching for an unopened bottle, his brother nodded enthusiastically. Don was tempted to tell him to slow down, especially since they both hadn't eaten yet, but figured they both could use a little loosening up. CalSci was closed for the holidays, and Don was on his days off. _To hell with it_, he thought, and immediately drained his beer.

Charlie stared at him in awe. "You are going to be so _sick!_" he said.

"Nah," Don replied, uncapping the next bottle. "Anyway, where was I?"

Quickly swallowing a mouthful, the younger Eppes supplied, "Apartment."

"Right. Well," Don reached over and shook the pan on the burner. "I didn't know much about housing markets in the city then, so when I saw an ad on the bulletin board at work about someone looking for a roommate, I answered it."

"Why did you do that?"

"Huh?" Don looked at his brother, who gestured at the pan. "Oh. So it doesn't stick."

"Why don't you stir it?" Charlie looked truly perplexed and more than a little bit drunk.

Don reached over and cuffed him good-naturedly. "You're supposed to leave it _covered_, you ninny!"

Nodding wisely, Charlie waved his bottle for Don to continue.

"The person who wrote the ad used to cook for a five-star restaurant in New York." Don got up to get some vegetables out of the crisper. "That's where I learned it."

"New York _city_?" Charlie asked. "Wow. FBI agents come from all over the place, don't they?"

"Yeah," Don began shredding lettuce into a bowl. "And from all walks of life, too."

Charlie smiled impishly. "Was she cute?" he asked. Don looked up suddenly from the cucumber he was peeling. "How…?" he trailed off.

"You made a point of not saying whether your roomie was male or female," Charlie shrugged nonchalantly. "Stands to reason it's because it was a 'she'."

Don shook his head and began slicing the cucumber. "Sometimes you're too clever for your own good, Eppes," he muttered. Picking up the celery, he tossed it at his brother. "Here," he said. "Make yourself useful." He was a little surprised when Charlie grabbed it in midair without fumbling.

Moving a little unsteadily to the sink, Charlie turned on the faucet and started rinsing the stalks. "So… was she?" He cast a devilish grin over his shoulder. Don caught the look and grinned back, despite his best efforts to look stern. "Oh yeah," he said. The alcohol was beginning to take hold of his inhibitions. "Yeah, she was… hot."

Charlie shut off the tap and brought the celery back to where Don was slicing vegetables. "Hot?" he asked. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that before." He set the celery down and moved back to his stool. He reached for the bottle and frowned when he saw it was empty.

"You'd better slow down, buddy," Don admonished. "You're going to wind up getting sick, not me." He tossed the last of the sliced celery in the bowl and started on a tomato.

"You're probably right," Charlie agreed. Propping his chin in his hand, he asked, "How come you've drunk more than me, but you're still okay?"

"I've 'drunk' more than you?" Don laughed. "Oh boy – now your English is suffering!"

"Whatever," Charlie said, waving his other hand in the air. "How come?"

"Probably because I can hold my liquor better than you." Don scraped the sliced tomatoes off of the cutting board into the bowl. Picking up an apple, he began to peel it carefully, taking the skin off in one long, continuous strip.

Charlie dipped his hand into the bowl to steal a piece of cucumber. Don contemplated giving him hell for it, then decided it was probably a good idea for his brother to get something into his stomach to take the edge off all that beer.

"That's another thing I wanted to ask," Charlie said, chewing contentedly. "Why do you drink so much?"

Don frowned as he cored the apple. "Why do you talk so much?" he countered.

Unperturbed, Charlie said, "No, really. It's something I noticed a long time ago, and I always wanted to ask you." He grabbed a slice of tomato.

"You did, did you?" Don hacked the apple into small pieces with excessive force. This was a topic he didn't want to get into, and if his brother hadn't been half cut, he'd know better. He dumped the bits of apple into the bowl and reached for his drink. Taking a large swallow, he watched Charlie picking pieces of salad out of the bowl with his fingers and eating them. He fought the urge to slap his hand – that was something their father would have done. Sighing, Don made a conscious effort to relax. They were supposed to be having a good time, and Charlie hadn't done anything wrong. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension he was feeling.

"Charlie," Don began. His brother looked at him expectantly. The last vestiges of Don's anger dissipated. He could never stay mad at the little creep for very long. "You've got to understand," he continued in a softer tone. "My job is very… stressful. I need to unwind somehow."

Charlie nodded. "But were you aware that you are at higher risk of becoming an alcoholic because of it?" he asked. "Statistics show…"

Don cut him off abruptly. "What was the deal?"

"Huh?"

"The deal, Charlie," Don pressed. "We had a deal, remember?"

Charlie clapped a hand over his mouth and spoke from behind his fingers. "No numbers tonight."

"That's right," Don replied lightly. He waved a salad server at Charlie. "No numbers, or I call you a cab."

Charlie grinned mischievously as he flipped an errant curl out of his eye. "One, one, three, five, eight, thirteen…"

Don jabbed at him with the tongs. "You're a cab!" he said playfully. "And you're so drunk, you can't count properly."

Giggling so hard he was losing his balance on the stool, Charlie said, "I wasn't counting. I was reciting the…"

"Ah, ah, ah," interrupted Don for the second time. "Remember your promise."

"Right. Sorry." Charlie's expression sobered, if nothing else. "What about your roommate?"

Don polished off his beer and headed back to the fridge for another. He held a bottle up for Charlie to see and, when he nodded, took out a second one. Closing the door, he said, "Yeah, well… like I said – she was hot." He set a beer down in front of his brother and then pointed a finger at him. "Go _slow_ with this one, or you're cut off. Do you hear me?" Charlie nodded so hard his curls bobbed. Don cracked open his own bottle and took a sip. Setting it down, he took the lid off of the frying pan. A mouth watering heady aroma wafted from the concoction inside.

Charlie closed his eyes and sniffed appreciatively. "Wow, that smells great!" he said.

"Wait until you taste it," Don replied. He walked to a nearby cupboard and took down two plates. Setting them on the island, he spooned half of the pan's contents onto each plate. He then put liberal amounts of salad on them. Handing one to Charlie, he said, "Here. Eat."

"Thanks," Charlie took the fork Don offered. As he was about to dig in, he asked, "What is this stuff called again?"

Don gazed at his brother for a long time before replying.

"Soul food a la Eppes," he said. "Eat."


End file.
